Broken Glass, Stars Align
by CampionSayn
Summary: After the final battle, Firenze finds himself in the kitchens as he doesn't want to bother Madame Pomfrey with his own injuries and finds, to his surprise, a helping hand from an unexpected hand. Platonic romance/friendship.


Title: Broken Glass, Stars Align  
>Summary: After the final battle, Firenze finds himself in the kitchens as he doesn't want to bother Madame Pomfrey with his own injuries and finds, to his surprise, a helping hand from an unexpected hand. Platonic romancefriendship.  
>Disclaimer: I obviously own nothing, so please refrain—Warner Bros., JK Rowling, all related parties—from suing me.<br>Warning: Spoilers for DH, interspecies platonic romance, etc.  
>Dedication: Well, for lack of a better explanation, this is dedicated to <em><strong>JackieJLH<strong>_ for writing that cute _'20 Random Things…' _piece, _**Meatball**_ after reading that Firenze/Sybill fic I just found, and other bouts of inspiration. I haven't reviewed those fics yet, I think, but whoever reads them should really check those out, they're really good!

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><p><em>-:-<br>And really, that's all you need. Someone who sees the psycho that you are, and likes you anyway.  
>-Young Justice.<em>

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><p>Walking down to the kitchens was, perhaps and foremost, not the most clever thing he could have done when there were long gashes down his back legs that made him limp a little for every step he took and a break in a few of his ribs, but Firenze couldn't stand to be cooped up in the infirmary with Pomfrey skittering from one patient to another, hands full and not needing another one on her hands. It wasn't like he hadn't been able to take care of himself countless times before, so this shouldn't be any different.<p>

True, those other times didn't involve the end of a rather tiring war among those of magic in the world, and the complete—witnessed—demise of Voldemort, and he wasn't in the forest where he could find healing herbs…but the kitchens were the next best thing. He had been there occasionally before in his first year as a teacher looking for a few of his other students and such, but had rarely come recently. Not since the whole messy business of the war building to its crescendo he hadn't had the delight of going to the kitchen to talk with that funny little Dobby—may he rest in peace—or that slightly less depressed than she had been Winky.

His gate steadied as he neared the kitchens and, not too surprisingly, there were noises coming from inside the doors. It was just like the house-elves to go about making food and such for everyone when they themselves had just performed in the battle themselves—wielding cutlery of all things for weapons.

Opening the door, not bothering to knock as the little elves would immediately start skittering around his legs and ask him what he would like, the centaur practically balked fully backwards on his injured back legs. Some of his light colored hair swept in front of his eyes from the motion of stepping back that one second, but he brushed it away to look curiously on the sight moving about from one fireplace oven-like piece to another.

Sybill Trelawny with her crazy, mad and unkempt hair pulled into a tight ponytail (well, as tight as she could get it, anyway), glasses removed, bloody gashes along her forehead, cheeks and the parts of her arms that the centaur could see, was…cooking?

And she was, he was sure. Although, one of the large, garish and unattractive shawls she usually wore was indeed on her, but bound with one of those cooking aprons with drawstrings around her waist; a large bulge was settled where her slim waist was, and if he squinted, he could see the bulge—no bigger than two large cats cuddling together—was moving a little inside the fabric. It was like she was a very large pregnant woman, walking around, humming under her breath, and cooking with blood still occasionally dripping from her wounds. Only a few house-elves were about at the moment, and most of them were helping each other out with their own healing charms and quiet encouragements to the others. Sybill was the only one actually doing any real motion and such.

"…oh, calm down, dear. Just rest for now and I'll let you out again when Pomfrey is free…Yes, dear, just rest…" The former Divinations professor said in a rather calm voice down through the opening of her shawl at the bulge that was still moving as she walked to the sizzling pan of some plants Firenze had seen growing in pots along the walls of the Herbology classroom that treated various maladies. Some smelled horrible, some smelled divine, but that might have only been because Firenze had a better smelling ability than humans. The plants had never smelled so awful while still in their flowerpots…

Without much preamble or any such announcement that he was in her presence, the centaur that stood a little taller than the wild and unpredictable woman carefully bent his knees until his bottom, more equine half was splayed out on the floor; the legs of his front were tucked properly under him like they would be if he were sitting down for tea with one of the other teachers, but his back legs—in such bad shape and with his ribs hurting so badly—were spread outward like a flopsy newborn deer. He could be comfortable just lying next to the doorway, shoulder pressed to the wall, until one of the uninjured elves came about and he could ask them to show him where the potions or herbs for injuries such as his were kept; he was very patient, after all.

Unfortunately, if he had hoped that Trelawny was going to leave him be, without noticing him at all, he was sadly mistaken when his right back leg—just trying to get comfortable—bumped into a sack that he thought had been potatoes and made an ugly sort of scraping sound. This was followed by Sybill finally noticing he was in the room and a rather large crystal ball popping out of the bag to go rolling around the room in nearly drunken circles. The former Divination teacher blinked once at him (her vision, he thought, was probably disturbed by some of her blood from a large gash above her brow secreting blood into her already poorly sighted vision) and then made a surprised little noise in the back of her throat; the bulge at her stomach squeaked in turn at the noise.

"Oh, Professor Firenze! How long have you been…"

He smiled, though half-heartedly at her, hand motioning for her not to get too worked up as she stooped to get her crystal ball and put it into the sack with the rest of its lot, "Do not worry, I have not been here more than a moment or two. I was just trying to find a place to rest until the school nurse could give me a once over. Speaking of which," he paused, motioning to her own injuries, made more apparent on her arms as she rolled up her sleeves to keep them from slopping into the frying pans, all jagged cuts in nasty reds as long as his fingers, "What happened to leave yourself in such a state?"

A wicked grin crossed her features and she patted the now much more squirming mass on her stomach in soothing circles, which calmed it down a little, "Oh, well, I found that tossing my crystal balls at the Death Eaters was working so well, I wasn't quite paying attention when three went down and one of the miserable wretches sent two back my way. I'm afraid I'm not very good at ducking large, breakable objects. And what of yourself, hm? I saw you and the rest of the four-legs battering about a few of the Death Eaters as well as those giants."

Firenze flinched a little at her calling the other centaurs four-legs, like they were pets, but suppressed it. At the very least, it wasn't one of her more colorful nicknames given at the height of one of her drunken episodes he hadn't seen since she'd started preparing months ago for the coming of the battle that had happened only some hours ago…strange that when it was really, really, really important she could get some prophecies right when most of the time he had to resist rolling his eyes at her like his-her-their students.

"Well, yes, we did engage the Death Eaters and giants in battle. Unfortunately, I wasn't quite quick enough when one of the giants sent his club down on us. My injuries aren't so bad compared to some of my brothers'. Bane was being treated by the nurse for burns inflicted by one of the Death Eaters the last I was upstairs, as well as some of the others having various injuries like myself, but nothing life threatening. Did anyone you know get badly hurt?"

Sybill's eyes had a faraway look for a moment and she said, rather quietly, "Some of the students died, as well as Professor Snape, I was told, but nobody I know personally, save…"

The squirming thing trapped in her clothing gave out another squeak and Firenze could just make out the words, "Oh, Miss Sybill, I must do some work!" before Trelawny smiled and hugged the mass again, quieting whatever or whoever it was down for the moment.

"Oh, and Winky the House-Elf here was inflicted with a broken leg from being stepped on as well as some slashes along her shoulder from that awful werewolf being thrown into a wall, but she keeps trying to go back to work while I make her a potion to at least heal the leg," here she directed her comments at Winky, Firenze assumed, as the elf finally stopped wiggling to allow Sybill to finish, "But I'm not letting her out until it's done, so she should just get comfortable and nap or something."

Firenze found himself chuckling when the house-elf popped her head out of the makeshift pouch Sybill had been holding her in for who knew how long since she'd found her, actually glaring at the woman and with the both of them more sober than the brightly colored centaur had ever seen them since they'd met. Actually, he couldn't smell a drop of alcohol on her or the elf at all…

"But Winky wants to help! The battle is over and there is so much work to do! Could Winky at least help heal…Mr. Firenze? He's hurt and the potion you're making is enough for two! And you're making the potion wrong!"

As Firenze made to tell the elf that such assistance really wasn't necessary, Trelawny crinkled her nose at the little elf, bowing over the ingredients in the pan skeptically, "Am I, really?"

Winky nodded her head twice, shifting in her snuggly prison so she was also looking at the pan and all the cut up bits and bobs within it; the image of the both of them—in sync and looking like those mother and baby kangaroos Firenze had read about—bowing over the crockery enough to make Firenze put his hand to his mouth to hold in the boisterous laughter that wanted to slip free of his mouth.

"See, the dark green isn't supposed to mix and become too light when the roots come to a charred boil," the elf pointed out, one of her skinny arms wiggling out to grab one of the spare utensils sitting quietly along the lining of the shelves, finding a trident, stabbing into a large root and then put it into an empty bowl nearby, "Can I just make this? You rest, and I'll tell you when it's done. You can keep professor Firenze company, yes?"

The centaur just sat there, looking startled as the two females glared delicately at each other, as though it was a full blown battle of wills. Were the two of them friends now?

Finally, Trelawny looked away from the elf's small eyes and positioned one hand under where Winky's legs must have been, other hand working fingers through the strands of the drawstrings holding her shawl like a pouch, "Very well, but I'm just going to set you on the counter. You try and bound off and you're going right back to being stuck with me, understand?"

The way Sybill spoke to Winky was so familiar and friendly that Firenze stayed quiet and got a contemplative look across his eyes that of which usually only came with observing the heavens; his blue eyes traced over Winky with the sharpness of pinpointing Pluto and surveyed Sybill with the same reverence of tracing the shining outline of the moon when it was just turning out of the blackness of space and a mere sliver of silver. It was strange for the centaur to see either female like this—completely sober and fully in the moment.

He blinked twice when he found that Trelawny had moved from setting Winky down on the counter—the little flibbity-ibbitty-jibbit happily stirring the broth that was beginning to pool around the pan before summoning a large vase sized vile from across the kitchen to poor the broth into so it could cool before adding more ingredients—over to sitting beside him on the floor.

Lacking in most skills when it came to members of the opposite sex, centaur or not, Firenze started a conversation with the woman about the first thing that popped into his head, trying to ignore the fact that she took off the shawl she'd used to hold in place Winky and had set it on his hind-quarters to soak up some of his blood.

"So, um, it seems that you've stopped drinking?"

The small woman turned her head from resting against the wall and over at him with an amused expression Firenze could remember Bane giving him when they were young foals—well, when Firenze was younger and Bane was less mature, barely close to adulthood—that consisted of her smile stretched, white teeth showing and those wrinkles at the tips of her eyes riding in the ways of water lapping the rivers and lakes. It was not terrifying, but as Firenze had never actually seen her happy (beyond the finding of a full bottle of Sherry in her trips through the halls down to the kitchens during his first month when she had been quite depressed and very intoxicated most times) it did manage to cause him to draw back a little; back getting straighter and ears flicking to the side.

"Oh, yes, a while ago," Sybill explained, her bony, thin little fingers tracing the open wounds along her palms and at the base of her wrist, "I had to cheat a little, though. I told Winky—told her, can you imagine, with her still being a free elf like that little nutter Dobby, I think—that she should keep all alcohol away from me. She was resistant at first, of course, but then I said 'If I slip up, I'll kick you into the lake'. Well, naturally, I did slip up, but then she looked so terrified, begging me to punish her for her dereliction of duty, that I stopped drinking altogether. She followed suit of course, the poor dear."

"Is it very difficult?" Firenze asked, genuinely curious, as he had heard that addictions involving drinks of alcohol among humans were quite difficult to cease in their entirety, often ending in failure. He couldn't believe that the wreck of a woman he knew could actually stop drinking; but then, he hadn't actually seen her in months, too busy observing the heavens and everything else going on with the war.

Sybill let out a shrill laugh that hurt the blonde centaur's ears, and wrong her hands together, "Oh, yes, it is very difficult. Those voices I used to hear before teaching came back. They were always there, of course, at some point or another, but the drinking toned them down so I could outright ignore them. Now I have to charm myself every morning and take a potion or two or else I have these… Well, where was I? Oh, yes; quitting the drink is the most difficult thing, but I've got Winky there for a friend now, because of it—don't I Winky?"

"Yes ma'am!" Winky squeaked over her shoulder, mashing up an ugly looking yellow plant that almost seemed to have a face in it. Trelawny smiled and glanced up at Firenze, her fingers drawing little patterns in the blood that was still fresh and flowing; little dandelions and half-moons.

Without her glasses, Firenze found that she wasn't actually all that unappealing to look at. He could look at her properly and found himself a little surprised when she stretched further out along the floor until her head rested on the ground, still looking up at him as she asked, "And what have you been up to, Professor? Are those other centaurs going to allow you to wander the forests again if you please or was this little battle a onetime only thing working with you?"

…And perhaps the awkwardness would never go away…but at least they could be comfortable by degrees with a zero hostility reading in the same room as each other.


End file.
